Prelude to Love Page 14

  "It is over, nearly," he answered.

  "You think we might encounter Carlisle again before we deliver the message?"

  "Probably not. He has no reason to suppose I managed to follow him, as I kept hidden. He thinks the message was not on you, and will be darting off elsewhere looking for it. I wonder where he'll go next."

  "We don't have to care, as long as he doesn't bother us."

  "I would sleep better nights if he were behind bars. A man like that, who would sell out his own country for money ... He doesn't deserve to live. We know he is in this general vicinity—he'll never be this easy to catch again. Besides, I owe him a little something."

  "You have more than repaid him with that vicious beating he suffered at your hands."

  "Not severe enough. I should have killed him. I would have done, had I ever imagined ... It's a strange thing, you know, in times of war you kill a dozen men and think little of it, but once you are into mufti, away from battle, killing assumes a greater importance. It is more difficult to do, is what I mean. When you know someone, even if you dislike him very cordially, he's damned hard to shoot. You don't get to know your victims in wartime—only their uniforms. If he's wearing the enemy's jacket, he's fair game."

  "War has a very coarsening influence on men," she said sadly. "Aunt Elleri has often mentioned it."

  "You find me coarse?" he asked swiftly.

  "Carlisle, no angel to be sure, used the word 'animal.' Also the words 'vicious' and 'brutal.' I cannot disagree with him."

  "It is impossible to deal in a gentlemanly way with the likes of Carlisle. I would like to know what you would have had me do differently."

  "I don't know. Nothing, I guess, but it is unfortunate men must behave like animals."

  "Soldiers behave like animals so that civilians need not," he answered swiftly, then fell silent, an offended expression settling on his countenance. When he spoke later, it was about business.

  "Have you any idea where I might look for Carlisle, after I have been to Whitehall? Did he say anything?"

  "No, nothing to the point."

  "How about the woman—Euston?"

  "No." She looked around at the countryside. "Do you not mean to have any balls at all when you are commandant?" she asked after a lengthy interval.

  She saw his jaw firm to a perfect square. When he turned to give her one quick glance, his eyes were darkly angry. "Try, if you can, to forget balls, for a few moments, Miss Bradford. I cannot believe you shared a carriage all the way from Colchester with Mrs. Euston without her having said anything that might help us."

  "She spent half the trip nagging at Bobbie to be still. Oh, she did ask rather particularly about my trunk, now that I think of it. I told her it was left on the stage, and then she wanted to know what coaching stop it was to be left at, and what time. When they didn't find the letter on me, they might have taken the idea it was in my trunk, I suppose."

  "He had already searched it once. The lining was ripped out when I got to his room that night, with your things spilled all over the place. That was why I had to rough him up a little, to discover if he had it. When he showed me the plain white paper, I realized what you had done."

  "You never told me why you opened my letter, the one I gave you at Maldon."

  "For the same reason I opened the real one. To read it, burn it and take the news on in person, in a way Carlisle could not get at it."

  "Oh. But I did not mean my valise. I mean my trunk was supposed to be on the stage."

  "Your father told me you only threw a few linens into a case."

  "We could not go away for a week without a trunk. You never know if the Harkmans might be planning a party, or even a ball."

  He looked at her, bewildered, but said nothing of her vanity. "What time, and what place, did you tell Euston your trunk would be in London?"

  "Stephen's Hotel, at four o'clock. It was what the schedule said."

  "Then she'll believe it. I doubt we'll be there in time to meet them. My first stop must be Whitehall. That is our top priority."

  "Are you suggesting I should go to the stage and see if they are there?" she asked, resentful at further demands on her.

  "Are you offering?" he asked with a sarcastic lift of his brow.

  "No, I am not, and I don't think a gentleman would even hint I should, after what I have been through."

  "You may be very sure I was not even hinting. You are the last person in the country I would entrust with a mission of any importance. You would doubtlessly stop to have a new gown measured up en route."

  "What am I to do while you go, then?"

  "You will be placed somewhere safe. You can remain at Whitehall if you have no friends to stay with."

  "I have an aunt. I'll go to her. I cannot be seen at Whitehall like this."

  "Don't entertain her with this tale till you hear from me."

  “Remembering this ordeal is not my idea of entertainment, Colonel. Neither is staying with my Aunt Halford."

  He turned a scathing eye toward her. "It is a matter of deep concern to me, of course, that you should be poorly entertained for a few hours. I really do apologize. Blame it on my military coarseness, but I feel the exigency of saving the nation from an invasion by Napoleon Bonaparte must take precedence for the next few hours. Just be patient, Miss Bradford. You will be home soon enough, with whole platoons of officers to amuse you."

  "My life is not made up of flirting with officers," she answered swiftly. "I lead a very dull, quiet life, with an invalid father who is bad-humored, along with all the rest."

  "Men who are in constant pain from wounds are apt to be ill-humored. I should think a dutiful daughter would make it her first business to see he is spared as much aggravation as possible."

  "I do not aggravate him."

  "I find that difficult to believe. If you do not purposely aggravate him, there is no point pretending you stir a finger to help him in his concerns. A colonel's daughter should have a stronger sense of duty. Our country is at war, in jeopardy this minute from a French invasion. You were asked to perform one small task to help, and even that you could not undertake to execute with either goodwill or the least degree of competence. You have done nothing but whine at the disagreeableness of your errand and make one wrong, foolish, dangerous decision after another. Don't speak to me of entertainment, Miss Bradford. Your life has been one long entertainment. It was poor training for the job entrusted to you. One can only assume your father was blinded to your utter selfishness by his love for you. If you were my daughter, I would be ashamed of you."

  "He doesn't love me! He never has."

  "You are mistaken. He was extremely concerned for your safety. Only his sense of duty impelled him to send you. He thought you could be trusted. What else but love could be so blind?" he asked with a blighting stare, then he returned his attention to his driving.

  Vanessa squared her shoulders, ready to defend herself, but there was some rejection in the square set of his shoulders, the implacable tightening of his jaw. Why should she care for the opinion of an ill-mannered brute? Her life was not at all as he imagined it to be. She was a good and dutiful daughter. Was it her fault she was not trained to be a spy? She was well out of this wretched predicament. She would go to Aunt Halford and forget it, let him handle it. He was paid to.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vanessa was tired, and angry and uncomfortable, being bolted along too quickly in an open carriage that showed every passerby her ridiculous gown. Most of all, she was furious with Landon for daring to read her a lecture, after all she had done to help the country. That was gratitude for you! For a mile, her companion said not one single word.

  The silence was so oppressive it could be cut with a knife. She took short, occasional looks at his profile. She read the worried, concentrating look he wore, and knew that for him, the fight was not over yet. His thoroughness would not be satisfied till he had not only delivered the message, but apprehended Carlisle as well. And even th
en, there was still the war to be fought! She thought he must be a good soldier. He was effectual, clever, hard.

  Her father too was like that, though he was capable of tenderness upon rare occasions. He had promised her a ball, when he saw her gown hanging ready in her room. Landon too had been sympathetic for about two seconds, at Euston's cottage. Sympathy from a man like Papa or Landon meant more than from a Forrester, who was always ready to grieve for a touch of migraine or a muddied gown or a missed visit. You knew you had earned their commiseration, and knew they meant it too.

  During one of her quick peeps, Landon turned suddenly and looked at her. She saw the haggard look around his eyes and mouth, came to realize he had not slept the night before, any more than she had herself. He too had suffered, even at her own hands. She accused him of viciousness, but she had attacked him without a qualm, hit him as hard as she could and not looked back to see if she had killed him. In desperate times, you do desperate things.

  "Where does this aunt of yours live in London?" he asked, his tone chilly. She had scolded all the merriment, the elation of his little victory out of him.

  "In Belgrave Square. Just leave me at Whitehall and do what you must do. They'll take me to her. I'll be safe. You don't have to worry about me any more."

  "Are you asking me not to call on you? Would you prefer not to see me again?" he asked bluntly.

  "No! That was not my meaning." Landon was a hard man to like, but she had reluctantly come to respect him, and wished he might have a better opinion of her character.

  "Are you sure? I could become a great pest, with very little persuasion." A tentative smile took the rough edge from his face. How could he smile so soon after his tirade?

  "I—I only meant ... The thing is, I said more than I should have, about your behavior. You had to be brutal. I understand that. I shouldn't have criticized. In fact, I don't believe I ever apologized for hitting you."

  "I understand. It is a belated attack of conscience that spurs you on to sympathy. I shall call to let you know what happens, but I shan't become a pest. Promise."

  He was wearing his stiff, offended face again. Her shoulders sagged from the chore of being polite, trying not to hurt his feelings, while still not encouraging his advances. His reading of her character bothered her too, as there was more than a little truth in it.

  She took small heed for her father's comfort or well-being. She made no effort to control her yawns when he read those awfully long extracts about the war in India. His complaints about his chest had become boring, from repetition, but a constant pain must be hard to bear. She could help him, lighten his burden by cheerful company at least, instead of finding an excuse to leave the room shortly after he entered. Yes, she was not a very considerate daughter, but she would do better, try to become closer to him, while she still had the chance. He was no longer young.

  They continued in nearly total silence to London. She felt a fool to enter gracious Whitehall decked out so grotesquely, like a lady in a farce, with her sole flapping at every step, but she did not mention it for fear of another outburst from Landon. What did it matter anyway? No one was paying any attention to her.

  The first clerk they met recognized Landon. "Colonel, you back so soon!" he exclaimed. "I hope it doesn't mean trouble on the coast?"

  "Shh, the walls have ears. I have to see the secretary of war, at once," he answered.

  "He is at a meeting at 10 Downing. Shall I fetch him?"

  "If you would be so kind. It's urgent."

  With no more than a word from the colonel, the clerk hastened off to interrupt a meeting of the Cabinet. She was amazed to see her companion was taken so seriously, was so important a person in London. A request was easy to make, however. Whether the secretary of state for war would come trotting was another matter.

  It was not only the secretary of state for war who came, but the Foreign Secretary and the prime minister himself, along with a clutch of high-ranking military officers. "Landon, what is it?" one of the military men asked.

  "General Almont," Landon said, springing to attention and saluting. "We had best speak in private."

  Vanessa sat forgotten on her chair. No one noticed her grotesque gown, her torn shoe. She might have been a flyspeck on the wall, for all the attention paid her. As the group of men turned in a great bustle to depart, Landon remembered her. "Will someone look after Miss Bradford?" he asked the clerk.

  "Simmons, attend to the lady," the officer ordered with a questioning glance at the bizarre apparition that stared at him from the chair.

  "Keep a close watch on her. She might possibly still be in some danger," Landon added. "Perhaps … " He turned to one of the men in the group, a young, pale gentleman who looked not important. She thought he was to be despatched as her protector. Some words were whispered between them, then they both stepped toward her.

  "The prime minister would like to thank you, Miss Bradford," Landon said.

  She gulped and arose, to receive the thanks of the first minister of the country. She could not think of a word to say. "You're welcome," she said with a curtsey, feeling her speech entirely inadequate to the honor of the occasion. They were gone before she quite realized what august company she had been in.

  She looked at their retreating forms, feeling excluded from important and very interesting goings-on. She did not quite forget it was her own wish that she be taken to her aunt, yet it seemed hard that she must miss out on the denouement of the adventure. Landon, in his usual arrogant, overbearing way was assuming control of the whole, bending prime minister and all of officialdom to his whim. It was her father who had sent the letter. She felt very much abused.

  "The colonel didn't waste a minute, did he?" the clerk commented with an approving smile. "It was a wise decision to send him down to the coast, though I think it severe he was not given some time off after his return from India."

  "Is that where he has been? He never said so. I wondered why he was so dark."

  "Indeed yes. Have you not been reading of his exploits amongst the Marathas?"

  "No, I haven't followed it," she answered, knowing she displayed her ignorance. India was so far away, and wars with Indians, despite her father's following the matter with the greatest concern, had never interested her.

  "Young ladies have more entertaining things to do with their time," the clerk answered, not disapprovingly, but with calm acceptance of ladies' folly. "Now, what can I do for you, Miss Bradford? Would you like me to take you somewhere?"

  "I have to go to Belgrave Square."

  "I shall arrange for a couple of Guards to accompany you. The colonel mentioned you might be in some danger."

  She was not at all eager for a pair of elegant Guards to see her in Mrs. Euston's gown. In fact, she did not want to go to Aunt Halford at all, to sit in a saloon sipping tea and talking with an elderly and very boring gossip, while Landon went chasing Carlisle, doing her duty for her.

  Her country was in peril, and what was her contribution? To wound and obstruct in every way the man who was trying to save it, the man who had the prime minister running at a word. She could at least go to the stage stop and see if Carlisle and Mrs. Euston were there. With a pair of Guards to protect her and to arrest them, there would be no real danger in it, and it would give Landon a better opinion of her mettle. She realized then how much she wanted his good opinion.

  Even while these thoughts ran through her mind, two very capable-looking gentlemen, not in uniform but in ordinary blue jackets, bustled past. "He said four o'clock. We'll never make it. They'll have asked for the trunk and gone."

  "The stage is always late," the other answered. "Bond Street stop, wasn't it?"

  "That's what he said."

  They were gone, rushing out the door. Landon had remembered to handle the matter, with no help from her. A glance at her watch showed her it wanted only two minutes of four. They would not make it unless the stage was very late indeed.

  "I'm going with them," she said, taking
the decision on the spur of the moment.

  "Wait! Colonel Landon said ..."

  "I'll be safe with two men to guard me," she called over her shoulder.

  She flapped along after them, stumbling at every second step with her torn shoe. She caught them up, panting wildly, just as they were climbing into a carriage.

  "This must be Miss Bradford," one of them said, smiling at her outfit.

  "Yes, I shall go to the stage stop with you. I can identify them."

  "Spring 'em," he called to the driver as she hopped in. "That's a good idea. We have their description from Landon, but a positive identification would help, particularly if they are in disguise."

  "Yes, and I know what the groom and footman look like too—the men on Mrs. Euston's carriage."

  "Do you know, Rob," the elder of the gentlemen said to the other, "I do believe the golden-haired boy has slipped up on one item. Landon didn't mention a groom and footman, did he?"

  "He has much more important things on his mind!" she retorted hotly. Why was she not pleased to hear of his making a slip? Why did she feel this urgent compulsion to defend him?

  The driver took his order to spring 'em seriously. The dash through the city traffic was hair-raising. It was also futile. They did not arrive at the stop till well after four. There was no sign of either Carlisle, Mrs. Euston, groom or footman.

  "I'll ask if anyone has been enquiring for your trunk," the elder man said, then strode quickly to the wicket.

  "There was an elderly dame in black asking for it," he reported a minute later.

  "Mrs. Euston," she said. "I wonder where she would have gone from here."

  "London is a big city. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. We'd best report back to Landon."

  "He had some men sent back to that cottage where Miss Bradford was taken, in case they return there. That will be their destination, don't you think?" he asked her.

  "Very likely. They left a boy there." She felt in her bones it must be so. Mrs. Euston's scolding of Bobbie indicated concern as well as impatience.